


Color

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Spotify Songfic Challenge [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Mention, But not a songfic, Canon Compliant, Color, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Implied Will/Hannibal, M/M, Spotify Songfic Challenge, Violence, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: SInce that night at Verger Farm, WIll Graham's world has been turning slowly to gray. A moment of awakening brings it back to full color.Fic #1: Spotify Songfic Challenge Fic:More information in notes!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Spotify Songfic Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038213
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Color

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kobayashi Hatori](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kobayashi+Hatori).



> Howdy, y'all! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Im doing these as part of a Spotify wrapped songfic Challenge. If you'd like to submit a challenge prompt give me a number (1-100) and a ship(Hannigram, Codywan, Obitine, Obisiri, Alana x Margaux, Ventrobi, and some others!) and I'll give it a shot. 
> 
> The song for this fic is "Shake it Out" by Florence and the Machine, number 10 on my list. 
> 
> You can make a request in the comments here or on tumblr where you can find me at the same name. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, I really appreciate you for reading! :)

He felt gray. Hannibal was in the bathroom of this safe house, presumably washing the remnants of The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane from his hair and skin and mind as much as he could. The water had stopped running long ago, but he was yet to emerge, only thin streams of steam sliding around the doorframe as Will watched. The steam was the only thing that did not feel gray, the same dull, listless gray that Will Graham new had been creeping around the edges of his world for three years now. It was pure white, but fleeting, catching the fluorescent light from the tabletop lamp in a prism of color before it disappeared again.

He heard shifting behind the door and moved his eyes away, old hesitations welling up. Never let them know you’re watching. The inherent danger present in sharing eye contact with a person who truly knew you. How many of those people had there been? There had been two: One had killed the other, and as he thought of her now, she too had shifted from the sheen of a pale Minnesota sunrise to gray. He looked down to his own skin, and there too was the haze that covered it, the skin unblemished but all the same. No intrigue, no fire, no life beating a pulse under his skin. Simply existence.

It occurred to him that if he had never known anything else, then he could be gray and never notice. That all of his memories with Molly and Wally and Alana and Jack might have a chance to be the constructions of a life where he was perfectly content. A place that he could have successfully fooled himself that he belonged. Most people lived their lives that way; never tasting color, never knowing that they had ever even missed it.

“I do not keep a gun here, if you were planning to kill me before our Dragon gets the chance,” Hannibal’s voice cut through his observations and he raised his eyes back to him, a silhouette against the bathroom light that he flicked off as Will looked at him. “You will have to do it elsewise, I’m afraid.”

Will said nothing, locking eyes with Hannibal who seemed, at most, amused. He thought through what Hannibal was saying, thought to the array of kitchen knives lodged in a block at the front of the house, at tire iron and car repair kit he had seen in the backseat of the police cruiser. If he killed Hannibal with one of them, watched his blood run over his too-pale skin—drained of color from his long captivity—would Hannibal even try and stop him? Or would he allow it, knowing it was what Will needed? Or fight him off? Kill him in return? With every scenario, he could see the flashes of color. Scarlet blood and purpling bruises, the shock of Hannibal’s white hair or the dark flash of anger or rage or something akin to desire in his eyes.

Hannibal waited, but as Will stayed determined in his silence, he stepped into the kitchen. Will could hear him shuffling around, not bothering to be quiet. Glass clinked, a sign that he was selecting a wine for them to drink. Perhaps a final wine, Will considered, since Frances Dolarhyde was on his way here to kill them. The Great Red Dragon, burning in a flashes of orange and yellow and brilliant, vibrant crimson.

As Will stood from the couch, hearing Hannibal return with wine in his hand, the gray cloud swirled around him. When had it first appeared? After Verger Farm, when Hannibal had fallen to his knees in the yard before they took him away. It had become a suffocating weight on Will’s chest in the years since, at times so potent it feel as though his lungs might burst with the weight of it, and at times so light that he had convinced himself it was a figment of his imagination. But it was not until now, not anytime in those two years, that it had dissipated as it did now. As he pictured Dolarhyde’s arrival, his attack on them and he and Hannibal together as they beat him back. Together as they emerged victorious. Together, as they freed all three of them from what had bound them on this path, Will Graham’s world exploded in color.

He heard the car pull up as he locked eyes with Hannibal again. He did not know what was going to happen, had no idea what to expect or how what might be the rest of his life might play out. But he could breathe again, he could feel again. He could see the vibrancy that had been shown to him with the death of Randall Tier. He reached for the wine that Hannibal offered, holding it by the bowl.

He lifted it to his lips, watching as the dark red shatter with the sound of the gunshot, spraying Hannibal with astounding color. He gasped as the knife slid into his face, but when he rose again, holding it in his hand, he could see the pure red sliding over his fingers. As he ran to the overcropping to join Hannibal in his fight, he could see every bit of blue off the distant water, every fleck of green in the moonlit grass. The gray, so omnipresent and omnipotent vanished in the face of a new beginning. 


End file.
